Ages and ages and ages (read: 6 weeks) ago, one of my best friends in this glorious world, Loreen, turned the ripe young age of 30. She was off on the Inca trail on this momentus day, proving her youth by trekking this hideously high altituded (oh yes, that is now a word) pathway sans any assistance from walking tools or her husband or most impressively, make-up. I know.

Since we weren’t able to properly celebrate Loreen’s birthday with her on the actual day, we kinda sorta tried to bend the time and space continuum and time warped back to the 1920’s to celebrate in style, albeit six weeks late.

Yes, I’m also confused.

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I made this gorgeous! stunning! I’m so modest! pavlova for a dinner party on Tuesday night and have been dying to post about it because aside from being absolutely beautiful, it also complements the weather right now perfectly ~ London is in the midst of another little spurt of summer, with the mercury rising into the high 20’s and everyone, everyone, is just happy.

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I started this blog post on Monday night and normally I do my posts in one sitting because if you haven’t noticed, my posts are not well thought-out, well drafted pieces of art. They are more a verbal vomit of the strings of thoughts that are cruising around my head and occasionally, they kinda sorta maybe make sense.

But on Monday night, I had to take a break. Why? Because my beloved was playing football.

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It happened again. This time last year, I remember waking up, frothing at the mouth excited like someone was giving me a puppy wrapped in a ticket to Vegas on Christmas morning. But it wasn’t Christmas and there was no puppy. A ticket to Vegas did come eventually, but that’s not the story. The story goes that this time last year, I was so eager to get to Taste of London that I made Panu run to the event.

For realz.

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